


Yellow Sapphire

by a_denim_wrapped_nightmare



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series), Watcher Entertainment RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, References to Alien (1979), Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:22:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27358711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_denim_wrapped_nightmare/pseuds/a_denim_wrapped_nightmare
Summary: Ryan and Shane are not soulmates. Shane has no proof of this; he just knows that the alternative is too good to be true. And Ryan is already his best friend, fellow ghosthunter, and business partner, which is more than Shane can say for most of the people in his life, let alone his crushes. So he's fine with what he has now.Just fine.Or: a brief tale of hope, courage, and love, featuring a ghostly basketball, an airplane, and Sigourney Weaver.
Relationships: Ryan Bergara/Shane Madej
Comments: 24
Kudos: 253
Collections: Skeptic Believer Book Club Hallowe'en Fic Exchange 2020





	Yellow Sapphire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Steeella](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Steeella/gifts).



> A massive thank-you to Steeella for the prompt! Apologies for this being late. 
> 
> A quick primer on the rules of this AU, because I haven't been able to find another one with this exact premise:  
> In this alternate universe, most people are born with soulmarks, patches of discolored skin that come in a variety of shapes, colors, and placements on the body. Soulmarks are incredibly sensitive to touch; if they're touched by another person, their owner feels excruciating pain. Soulmates are defined as people who can touch each other's soulmarks without pain (in fact, mark-touching can create a sense of euphoria if done by a soulmate). You never know who your soulmate is until you test the touching thing out, so you can see how finding your "other half" can be a tricky process.

The hotel’s not haunted; of that, Shane is certain. There are no spooky specters waving hello to him in the bathroom mirror, no threatening messages scrawled in the fogged glass. Even the toothpaste has been left untouched. 

But ghosts (or more accurately, the concept thereof) aren’t the only things in life that can stress a person out - there are plenty of things that can do that. Like holding down a job-and-a-half, or watching guests cancel only a few days before shooting, or having to finish a script that just isn’t working. Just to name a few. 

Shane can’t see his soulmark in this mirror, but he knows exactly where on his skin it begins and ends. He raises his hand to the nape of his neck, holding his fingers to the diamond-shaped patch of yellow there. His chest seems to loosen ever so slightly; faint ripples of calm gently radiate from his mark down his spine. It’s not quite serenity, but it’ll do in a pinch. 

So Shane throws on some clothes, towel-dries his shower-damp hair, and prepares to at least try to get some shut-eye. 

Until he turns the corner and comes face-to-face with a very wet, very shirtless Ryan Bergara. 

“The jets work!” Ryan proclaims, a bright smile on his face as he leans back in the room’s jacuzzi. 

Shane blankly stares for a second, before he finds the good sense to raise his head to the ceiling and look at anything other than Ryan. 

“That’s- uh. Good for you. That they work.”

“I’m wearing swim trunks, Shane. You don’t have to avert thine eyes.”

It still takes a moment for Shane to bring his gaze back to Ryan. It turns out that he wouldn’t have been able to see Little Ryan even if Big Ryan was in his birthday suit; the jets do indeed work, and they’re working up a storm. What the bubbles aren’t hiding, however - well, it’s still A Lot. 

His arms are spread out on his sides along the edge of the tub, and _holy shit_ those biceps are a sight to behold. His hair seems dry, still in those curls that Shane half-wants to run his hands through some day. And in the middle of his bare chest, well. There’s a sapphire circle, just above his heart. It’s small, just poking out from the surface of the water, but it’s bright and bold and a little hard to look away from. 

Ryan scooches over. 

“There’s room for two, y’know. Even a giant like you could fit.”

“Uh-“ oh boy. Shane hopes that his cheeks aren’t turning red, and he turns away for good measure. “I dunno if I want to take that chance, buddy. Don’t wanna bend my arm and bonk you square in the chest.” 

Ryan shrugs. “Your loss.”

Shane busies himself with folding their outfits from the investigation proper and finding something half-decent on the TV. The channel numbers are all different in this part of the country, and entirely too many of them are playing _Friends._

There’s a thud from the floor above. 

Shane doesn’t say anything, just turns back to Ryan and waits for the show to start. Ryan, for his part, doesn’t have saucers for eyes, and in general doesn’t look like he’s about to piss himself in the jacuzzi. He’s not the jumpy lil’ guy Shane got to know years ago - ghosthunt after ghosthunt has hardened his resolve a bit. Made him confident. These days he’ll run headfirst into things before even Shane does. 

(Though to be fair, Shane isn’t one to run headfirst into things. He just follows the lead, follows someone else’s heart, follows Ryan all the way to a non-haunted hotel with a functional hot tub. It’s a living.)

Then there’s a LOUD thud and both of them jump. 

“Jesus Christ,” mutters Shane. “Did someone drop a safe up there?”

Ryan turns off the jets and starts getting out. Shane thinks about making a joke - something along the lines of _what, do you think the little ghosties are gonna stick your head in the water?_ \- but it dies on his tongue as Ryan steps onto the carpet. 

He’s literally glistening in the soft light, his very-exposed soulmark shining like a jewel. 

“You rattled, big boy?”

Shane’s brain goes offline. 

“Usually I’m the one turning to you when-”

There’s a series of small shuffling thuds in quick succession, and that shuts Ryan up right then and there. 

“Holy shit, dude,” Ryan half-whispers. 

“Sounds like someone dropped a basketball up there. Do these ghosts get net, Ryan?”

And that’s what brings the little guy back to Earth again. 

“Tell me, Ry’. Are they dribbling?”

“Shut up, Shane.”

It’s said with the cadence of an endearment, and Shane’s heart does a tiny loop-de-loop, but he’s not getting his hopes up. He’s lucky enough to have Ryan as a best friend and co-host and business partner, and that’s a lot more than he ever got to have with his past crushes. 

And that’s all this is. A crush. He’s had them before, he’s gotten over them before. Frankly, Ryan’s such an objectively attractive man that it’d be weirder if Shane _didn’t_ have a crush on him. So Shane’s going to take a mental note of his emotions, lock them away, and wait until either they fade or he keels over. It’ll be fine. 

Just fine. 

(Besides, even if he did invite Ryan into the deepest recesses of his soul… Ryan’s always been one of those romantics, dead-set on finding The One. The odds aren’t in Shane’s favor there anyways.) 

So Shane gently ribs both the non-existent ghosts and the very-present Ryan as he checks the cameras and gets into bed. 

* * *

The airport’s bustling all around them, and Shane’s regretting his decision to not wear a turtleneck. So many eyes from so many directions. He contemplates tapping Ryan on the shoulder and pointing to the theme park poster across from them, so that the forty-minute lecture he’d be in for can distract him from everything else. 

Ryan claims the window seat as they shuffle into the plane, and Shane takes up the task of putting their carry-ons in the overhead bin. Because if he’s got legs as long as a football field, he might as well use them. 

To his right is a man who’s even taller than he is, and Shane wishes he could psychically give the guy some condolences, because this plane was _not_ built for either of them. Ryan’s pulling out his phone - whether it’s to text someone before takeoff or to get some work done, Shane doesn’t know. Shane already knows that he’s going to spend most of this flight fighting against autocorrect as he tries to finish a script about the Nika Revolts. Because if he’s going to be cut off from the outside world for a few hours, he might as well turn inwa- _FUCK!_

Something searing stabs its way through his spine, shooting down his limbs, and the world goes burning white. The pain might be paralyzing, not that Shane would know, because his body can’t figure out where he is, not if all he can feel is white-hot electric shock and all he can see is a flashing mess behind his eyelids. His ears ring as his hand covers his soulmark, where the pain is worst, and he becomes vaguely aware of something solid - maybe hands - on his arms. 

He remembers how to breathe - though the inhale stings - and his eyes crack open to a blurry view. A Ryan-esque blob is looking down. The sunspots subside and sure enough, that’s Ryan, eyes wider than they’ve been in ages and lips moving like they’re calling his name. 

“Shane?”

Hit the nail on the head, Madej. 

More of the scene comes into focus. He’s been deposited in one of their seats, and Ryan’s between him and the tall guy, who’s watching anxiously from the aisle. Ryan’s hands are definitely on his arms, holding him steady. 

“You’re okay,” he says. “I’ve gotcha, buddy, you’re okay now.”

Shane takes a shaky breath before coughing out a “What happened?”

The tall guy blurts out an explanation-slash-apology, and Shane puts together what happened pretty quick. Tall guy was putting stuff away. He moved his arm the wrong way. And he accidentally elbowed Shane square in the mark. Simple as that. And not something that the guy should beat himself up over, Shane tries to make clear. 

One very awkward exchange later, and the guy goes back to his seat. Ryan stays where he is, right by Shane’s side, between him and the aisle. 

“Ry, didn’t you want the window-”

“It doesn’t matter,” Ryan mutters. 

It isn’t worth arguing over, so Shane pulls out his phone, and pulls up the script. He needs to polish the section about how Theodora convinced Justinian not to flee across the Bosporus. A true historical power couple. Soulmates, if Procopius is to be believed. To be fair, Procopius also said some pretty unbelievable shit about them (Shane can never look at geese the same way again), but the soulmates thing seems plausible enough. 

“Uh-” Ryan’s pulling off his hoodie for some reason- “here.”

Ryan hands the hoodie to Shane. 

“You’re gonna be cold, Ryan.”

“You need that thing more than I do.”

“Yeah, but you’re going to complain about how your balls are freezing off or whatever, and I’m gonna be stuck listening to that for the whole flight.”

“You’ve got headphones,” Ryan replies. He’s entirely too sincere. 

Once again, Shane lets the argument drop, and puts on the hoodie. It’s a bit small on him, but when he tests out the hood it is indeed big enough to cover his “Goodyear-blimp-sized” head. Leaving his soulmark very much protected. 

It’s a little odd, being cared for like this, but Shane’s more than willing to let it happen. He can kind of understand why Ryan’s become so gentle. See, Ryan’s soulmark hasn’t been touched a staggering number of times in his life - Shane’s only aware of three incidents, involving a water park, a lav mic, and his last relationship - but it’s a uniquely memorable kind of pain. One of those moments that sticks in your brain for the rest of your life, always clear as day no matter how many years go by. 

That, he thinks, is the worst part about it. Not the sun-hot stabbing pain from the touch itself, but the fact that ten years later you’ll be minding your own business and the thought of it will come back and you’ll stop in your tracks and think _oh._

Shane leans back into his seat, the fabric of the hood bunching up and forming a cushion around the nape of his neck. Maybe ten years from now, he hopes, when he thinks back to this plane, at least the fabric will be there to soften the blow. 

* * *

Look, it’s- it’s not like Shane really buys into all the stuff that psychics and matchmakers try to peddle. Soulmates aren’t that special in the grand scheme of things - nothing is - and hey, plenty of people don’t even have soulmarks. Some people have more than one soulmate. Humans are complicated and you can’t fit everyone into boxes, no matter how many boxes you make. 

But sometimes he wonders. And he looks at those long, labyrinthine compatibility charts, finds how yellow and blue or diamonds and circles go together, and. Well. Just because it’s probably bullshit doesn’t mean he can’t get bummed out by it. 

And look. Shane can easily go his whole life without anyone ever touching his soulmark. It’s just not a priority for him. 

But Ryan? Ryan may or may not believe in all that compatibility bullshit and grand destiny stuff. But by god, he wants to find his soulmate. He loves deep and hard and doesn’t give his all until someone’s crossed his firewall. He may not be as hardcore about it as Steven, but still. Shane wouldn’t have a chance of making anything work long-term unless he was Ryan’s soulmate, and, well. 

Shane isn’t Ryan’s soulmate. He hasn’t tested that theory out - he wouldn’t risk putting Ryan through that - but in his heart of hearts, he knows it’s true. Just like how he knows that even though it’s technically possible, he’ll never go to space, never get John Mulaney as a guest on one of his shows, never win a marathon even with his giraffe legs. He can’t lie to himself about his chances - some things are too good to be true. 

So like always, he’ll sit this out. He doesn’t need to be Ryan’s soulmate to take him across the state, to follow him around the world, to sit by his side in the office and pine quietly-

“Shane!”

His train of thought is interrupted by an arm landing on his desk and a sharp call of his name. He looks up at one Steven Lim.

“Company meeting today, remember? Katie has a pitch she wants us to hear.”

* * *

They’ve only just started filming this series, and Shane already thinks that Katie LeBlanc deserves a raise. 

So far they’re one-and-a-half drinks in, the sweet-tangy taste of Steven’s “Monster Smash” lingering on his tongue as Ryan reads another ghost story. 

_“My girlfriend was on the other side of the country for a business trip when this happened. I was washing dishes late at night when I felt something cold run down my arm. It even touched my soulmark - but it didn’t hurt. The next morning my girlfriend called and said she had a dream about me being in the kitchen. Makes me wonder if she somehow came to visit.”_

Ryan tosses the card aside with a flourish, but Shane has questions that need answering. 

“Wait, wait, hold on, lemme see if I got this right. What this person is saying is that their girlfriend…”

“Spirit just left the body-”

“Fuckin’ _astral projected?_ In her sleep?”

“I think that’s what they’re saying, yeah.”

“And all she did… was creepily stroke their arm?”

“Yeah, not even a hello? You’re not gonna, like, help them out with the dishes?”

“The soulmark thing- Ryan, you’re the spirit scholar here at Watcher-”

“Goddamnit, Shane-”

“Can ghosts-slash-disembodied-spirits be soulmates?”

“I mean, I guess? If the mark is a bond between souls, then I guess it doesn’t matter if the soul is in a body or not.”

“I dunno how any of this stuff is supposed to work.”

“Of course you don’t. You don’t believe in any of it, not spirits and not soulmates.”

“I mean, I don’t believe that soulmates are some destined-by-fate spiritual thing. It’s just- human bodies are weird sometimes. And sometimes that weirdness involves having ultra-sensitive patches of skin that hurt when some people touch them and feel good when other people touch them. It’s, like, psychosomatic or whatever.”

“Or whatever?”

“Look, man. I’m not a- a markologist.”

“Shut up, Shane. I’m giving this story four spirits out of ten. Not much there, but it’s touching.”

“I’ll give it a three.”

Ryan takes another swig of his drink as Shane gets his cards in order - next in line is a story from a user named “@boolighans”, and that’s a pun that the ghoul boys can respect-

“AH, NO!”

The bat-like screech breaking Shane’s train of thought is coming from Ryan, who apparently knocked his glass over and watered the lawn with it.

“I spilled it.”

“Ryan, we’re not even two drinks in. How drunk are you already?”

“It’s not the booze, it’s- the brick! The brick I’m using as a coaster, which- dumb idea in hindsight-”

“We should move on.”

“I’m getting a little worried here,” says Steven. “If we’re losing our drinks this early on…”

“Nah,” says Ryan, “It’ll be fine. Not to jinx it, but I mean, how bad could it really get?”

* * *

The answer is “very bad”. Like, barely-able-to-walk bad. 

Shane quickly learns that Drunk Ryan’s top priority is finding a soft surface and laying on it, because the first thing he does after getting out of the bathroom is collapse on the couch. 

Steven offers to drive them home, but it’s late, and Shane might not be able to put his key in his door’s lock, and Ryan, well. It’ll be easier if they both stay here for the night. The Bergaras are happy to have them - add that to the mile-long list of things Shane owed them for - and Ryan’s childhood bedroom probably misses him. 

Shane guides Ryan to bed, which Ryan all but melts into. 

_He’s cute,_ Shane thinks, _all curled up like that._ He wishes he could just-

“Stay.” 

Ryan’s tone is somewhere between a whine and a plea. 

_“Shaaaane.”_

Ah, hell. Shane can sleep with a turtleneck on and Ryan’s half-asleep already. There’s no harm in snuggling in. 

“Alright, I’m comin’.”

As he gets in, Shane realizes that the couch might have been the more comfortable option. Ryan’s bed is barely long enough to fit Ryan. The only remarkably appealing thing about this bed is that Ryan’s in it. 

Their legs bump against each other once, then twice, before they say _fuck it_ and let themselves become entangled. 

“Hey, Shane?”

“Hm?”

“I have a stupid question.”

“Okay.”

“Did you, like. _Ever_ believe in stuff?”

“Fuck’s sake, Ryan.”

“I mean, as a kid, did you believe in ghosts n’-”

“Nope,” Shane says, popping the P. 

“Not even like, aliens? Or soulmates?”

Shane pauses. 

“Soulmates, yeah.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

There’s a moment of silence.

“You want the joozy details, don’t you?”

“You know me.” Shane can hear Ryan’s smirk in his voice. 

“I thought this girl I had a crush on was my soulmate.”

“Woof.”

“The story’s not over.”

“Yeah, but I can see where it’s going.”

“Well, I was like, fifteen. So I was a fuckin’ love-struck teenage idiot. And she and I both had yellow diamond marks, we matched and all that. So I guess it made sense at the time. We actually dated for a little while. She was nice. Did A.V. club n’ shit. Then we decided to test the soulmate thing out, she touched my mark, and. Well.”

“That’s a woof, dude.”

“Honestly, the physical pain didn’t hurt as much as the pain of knowing we weren’t, like, meant to be. I know that sounds like edgy high-schooler bullshit. And it is. But, y’know. It hurt. But s’ not like I gave up on love or whatever. Otherwise I wouldn’t have ended up going to prom alone-”

“Shitting on a boat.”

“Poops of rejection. Just not soulmate-related rejection.”

“That’s rough.”

“Makes for a fun story, though.”

“No, the other thing. The- the soulmate. I mean, the not-soulmate. That sucks, man.”

“Eh. It’s been, like, twenty years. I’ve emotionally recovered.”

“That’s not… I’m sorry that happened.”

Ryan gives a supportive pat to Shane’s upper arm, then adjusts his aim and lands a few on his shoulder. His hand doesn’t pull away after the last one, just stays there. Present. Real. 

“Hey, uh. If you ever want help with, like, dating or love shit. You can always talk to me. I don’t know if I can help, but you can bet your paper ass I’ll try.”

Ryan’s hand snakes its way to Shane’s back, pulling their bodies close. He feels like plush rock, like safety made flesh. Like a promise. _I’ve got you, big guy._

They’ve read a lot of “spooky” stories tonight, but it’s not until now that Shane’s been scared. Because a thought enters his mind and won’t get out, a thought far more horrifying in its implications than any ghost could be: 

He might not be able to sit this one out. 

The alcohol finally drags him under, and the last thing he’s vaguely aware of as he drifts off is the sense of slipping, sinking down Ryan’s body until his head lies on his chest. He hears something that might be Ryan’s heart, or might be his own, and the world unwinds. 

Shane dreams about the sea, waves lapping at the shore like a gentle metronome. The warm water rises up to his chest, his shoulders, his nape - and he can’t find it in him to be bothered. He hasn’t felt this serene in a long while. 

* * *

They’ve both seen this movie before, and neither one of them is paying much attention. They’ve got other things to talk about, like the company Halloween party later this month, or ideas for the next season of _Too Many Spirits_ (Should they do a Christmas season? A Valentine’s Day one? The possibilities are endless and they’re forever indebted to Katie now). 

On the screen, Parker grabs Ash’s arm to hold him back, and is shocked by the lack of a response from Ash as his soulmark is touched. On the couch, Ryan’s relaxed as can be, an arm swung behind the couch’s back as he enjoys the company. It’s nice - classic cinema in front of them, popcorn bowl between them. 

But there’s something on Shane’s mind that he doesn’t want to put behind them. 

He looks up, watches the crew of the _Nostromo_ keep pushing and trying to succeed in spite of the most dire odds in the universe, and works up just enough bravery to push him over the edge. 

“Hey, um.” He already hates the way his voice comes out, but fuck it. Bravery, Madej. Channel your inner Ripley. “I dunno if you remember this, but you said, a while back, that if I wanted help with dating stuff, I could ask you.”

“Oh. _Oh!”_ Ryan shifts in his seat, pulling his arm out from behind the couch and turning to fully face Shane. “Okay. Did you, uh. Did you meet someone?”

“Not exactly. I’ve known them for a long while, and recently - for the past few months, anyway - I’ve _felt_ things. And they don’t know.”

“Who is it? Uh- wait-” Ryan sputters out, “I mean, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. Um. Would I happen to know this person?”

“Not well,” Shane lies. Because Ryan might not know the first thing about cloning or physics or human anatomy, but he’s far from an idiot, and Shane has to throw him off the scent. “You’d recognize their name if I told you, but you’re not that close. It’s not like I’m in love with Steven, or someone like that.”

Ryan snorts. “Okay. So, uh. Do you want to tell this person how you feel?”

“I do. I really do. But I don’t think it’d work out.”

“Why’s that?”

“A lotta reasons. I’ve known them for a while and they’ve never shown an interest in me. I don’t know why they’d start now. And they’re really into finding their soulmate. Which I am almost certainly not.”

Ryan nods, mulling it over. 

“Okay. But you won’t _know_ whether or not you’re their soulmate until you test it out.”

“That’s the thing. If I tell this person how I feel, and it turns out we’re soulmates, then great! But if we’re not, then I’ve ruined a good friendship. I’ve bared the innermost recesses of my soul to them and they can’t do the same for me. It’d, y’know, be awkward. Why would they want to stick around after that?”

Shane’s not sure what he expected. Whatever look Ryan’s giving him right now sure as hell isn’t it. Ryan’s looking at him like he just insulted Ryan’s mom, or said without a hint of irony that he believes in demons now. It’s an expression of concerned bewilderment. 

“Okay. I don’t know who in their right mind would friendship-break-up with you over something like that.” When Shane shrugs, Ryan pauses the movie. “Hey. Look at me.” 

There’s a determined look in Ryan’s eyes. 

“I’m gonna cut all the jokey insults and be _painfully_ earnest for the next, like, thirty seconds. So listen up, because you don’t get this often.”

Shane nods. 

“Shane Madej, you are one of the best friends I have ever had. You are kind, you are smart, you are weirdly hilarious, and you’ve always been there for me. And if someone wants to throw you to the curb because the universe didn’t tell them not to, well. That’s their right, but they’d be fucking blind to not see how lucky they are to have you as a friend.”

He grabs a hold of Shane’s hand, and even as Shane startles and pulls back, he doesn’t dare let go. 

“So don’t let anyone tell you you’re not worth sticking around for. Not even yourself. Because nobody’s going to put my friend through that shit on my watch. Okay?”

There’s nothing Shane can think to do but nod. 

Ryan sighs, shaking the seriousness out of him. 

“Woo. Okay, we’re back to jokey-asshole mode now.” 

“Thanks. For the talk, and also for switching back to jokey-asshole mode, because that got tense.”

“Anytime, ya big weirdo.”

The mood now nominally back to normal, Ryan presses play. Ripley runs through the _Nostromo,_ flamethrower in one hand and cat in the other. 

Ryan’s hand is still on Shane’s. 

The odds are worse than ever. If that wasn’t an aggressive friend-zoning, Shane isn’t sure what is. But he knows what he has to do now. 

He’s going to tell Ryan. 

Just not tonight. 

* * *

Okay. Confessing your love on the dance floor might be a tad cliche. But your average Hollywood rom-com doesn’t feature parties where people are dressed as ghosts, ghouls, and sexy versions of Marvel characters (unless Kevin Feige has some _wild_ ideas up his sleeve). So this is where he’ll do it. 

It’s a little fitting, actually, that he’s going to do one of the scariest things in his life on a holiday dedicated to the things that frighten people. 

So he runs his fingers over his mark one last time for good measure, takes a deep breath, and steps into the office. 

The lights are dim, and deep purple glows cover the walls. There’s music playing, just a bit too loud for a party of this size, in the corner, from a DJ they’d had on during a Watcher Weekly earlier in the year. 

The whole company’s dressed in all manner of costumes, some of which actually take Shane aback. How Brittney’s pulling off zombie makeup that’s _this_ realistic, Shane has no idea. 

“Hey, Shane!” says Anthony. “Let me guess - you’re a safari guide?”

“No, I’m a cryptozoologist.” Shane pulls out a book from the freakishly-deep pockets of his vest, flips to the pages he’s glued images to, and puts on the shittiest Australian accent known to man. “I’ve snapped pictures of Nessie, the ‘Squatch, the Jersey Devil.”

“Huh. Creative.”

“What about you?” Anthony’s just wearing his normal work clothes. Which, hey, it’s not like they said that costumes were mandatory - they just like to have fun here at Watcher. “What are you supposed to be?”

“The world’s greatest spy.”

“You don’t even have any spy gadgets.”

“It sure doesn’t seem like I do.”

Shane’s talking to Lauren and Stephen, dressed as Lucy and Linus, when he gets a tap on the shoulder. 

“You hunting big game, big boy?”

Shane turns around to see Ryan decked out in a grey flight suit adorned with patches, and a flamethrower hanging from his shoulder. 

_Holy shit._

“Because so am I.”

He grips the flamethrower with both hands, raising it up to aim. It’s the sort of thing that should look brain-breakingly badass, but luckily for Shane’s grey matter, the nozzle of the device snaps off without the faintest of fanfare. 

“Uh. I might need to borrow some tape.”

“Did you make that yourself?”

“Sure did. I found some guides online. Took me the better part of this week to put it all together, but I think it was worth it. You think it looks good?”

“Yep,” Shane says, because _step on me_ is a bit too direct. “You look great, buddy.”

From his dirtied-up white sneakers to his freshly-curled hair, Ryan’s a perfect Ellen Ripley. Which is a blessing - and a problem. Shane had planned to make his big confession to a Ryan who was dressed as, I dunno, a lobster or Grey Vision or something else silly, not… not this. Shane can’t be courageous when Ryan’s challenging his ability to stand upright. 

“So what are you-”

“Cryptozoologist.”

“Oh. You’re looking for Bigfoot? Going to the family reunion?”

“I’m on the trail of a devil right now,” Shane says, putting the accent back on. “A _Jersey_ Devil.”

Oh, what Shane would give to bottle up Ryan’s bubbly giggles and hold onto them forever. 

“Oh my god,” says Ryan. He isn’t looking at Shane, but right behind him. “He snapped!”

Shane turns to see Steven, dressed in a red-stained apron with a butcher knife attached. 

“You’re a chef?” Shane asks. 

“Cannibal chef,” Ryan corrects. 

“Oh.”

“Well, it’s Halloween,” says Steven. “It’s gotta be spooky.”

“I’ve been telling you, Shane. If we ever got stuck on a desert island, who’d be the first guy to suggest eating each other?”

“That darkness in his eyes, yes…”

“This isn’t even a costume, Steven came here wearing his normal cooking clothes and just forgot to change.”

“Why?!” Steven throws his hands in the air in mock offense. “I’m not even a real normal chef!”

“Oh,” says Ryan without missing a beat, “so you’re a cannibal who can’t cook.”

“He serves ‘em cold.”

“So cold that if you cut it open, you’ll find the Knicks logo inside.”

“Ryan…” Steven facepalms. “You’re impossible sometimes.”

As Ryan and Steven go off on a sports tangent, talking about how many touchdowns LeBron James scored in the World Series or whatever, Shane sees an opportunity, and slips away. He’s got plenty of time before they stop, and he needs to plan his attack. He can’t just spring an “I love you” at any time, he needs to really think about it, needs to wait for the perfect moment. 

Apparently he’s not subtle when he gets lost in thought. He learns this when Katie walks up to him and puts it bluntly: 

“You look lost in thought.”

There’s a beat. 

“I like your costume.”

“Oh. Yours too.”

Katie’s got a long grey dress trailing behind her, and a pale face accentuated by the single red teardrop of her mark on her cheek. A regular phantom of the ballroom. Doomed to wander the earth forever after leaving business unfinished, or losing the love of her life. Or maybe Shane’s projecting. 

“Hey, uh- Ryan and I were talking, the other night, about doing another season of TMS, and we were wondering if you could…”

Shane trails off as the music changes from upbeat and spooky to something else. It’s slow, melancholy, like… 

Oh, god. It’s a fucking slow-dance song. _You’ve got to be kidding me._ It’s like this is middle school all over again. 

“Hey,” says Katie. “Your ghoulfriend’s lonely over there.”

She gives him a push in Ryan’s general direction. When Shane glances back, he mouths _how?_ and while he can’t tell for sure in the low light, he thinks he sees her wink. 

Well, he can’t turn back now. 

So Shane keeps walking, the floor stretching out under him and making every step longer. Everything he wants - needs? - is so close and so far away, and he’s back on the plane, back on the gymnasium floor and all too naive. 

And there’s Ryan, cushioning the fall. 

Shane settles on a line with seconds to spare. It’s short but sweet, not too direct and not too subtle. 

_May I have this dance?_

“Hey,” says Ryan. 

“Hey.” Shane’s shaking now. He hopes Ryan can’t tell. “So, uh. I was wondering, um… may I have this-”

Shane’s not sure how it happens. All he feels is the floor - no, fabric - pull out from under his unsteady feet, and as a voice shouts _WOAH!,_ the ceiling becomes the wall. Something thuds into his upper back, breaking his fall, and slides up as he slides down. 

“Oh boy,” Ryan grunts. “I gotcha, big guy.”

Shane opens eyes he hadn’t realized he’d closed, and sees heaven. 

Ryan’s caught him in a clumsy dip, strong arms and steady hands holding Shane’s upper body off the ground, looking down with concern in those beautiful eyes. 

Pure calm radiates from his palms through Shane’s body, and every tense muscle, every frayed nerve, is untangled. Shane’s re-embodied, brought back down to reality and lifted up above the atmosphere at the same time. Like there was a glass bottle of euphoria behind his rib cage that shattered as Ryan caught him, and now liquid serenity is pouring down his limbs. 

He forgets why he waited so long to say it. 

“Ry-”

Ryan drops him. 

The euphoria fades as Shane gets his bearings. He already misses Ryan’s hands on him, holding his waist and back and nape and-

Wait. 

Shane raises his hand to the back of his neck, fingers skating across his soulmark. Where Ryan’s hand just was. 

_Oh._

Shane looks up at Ryan. Neither of them have words. 

Holy shit. This is not a drill. 

Ryan is his soulmate. 

He has so much to say. What should he open with? _Ryan, I kinda lied to you the other night. Ryan, you finally found what you’ve always been looking for. Ryan, I love-_

Ryan runs for the door. 

* * *

By the time Steven makes it back to the office, Ryan is long gone. To “think about things”, apparently. 

The entire company’s got their eyes on Shane - they’ve been watching since he tripped on Katie’s dress and comically flailed backwards. What started as casually supportive cheers and a whoop or two have turned into murmurs and confused attempts at consolation. 

Shane covers his soulmark and slips into the bathroom. 

He rubs and rubs away, to the point where the skin on his neck should be raw, but no comfort ever comes. It knows what a soulmate, what Ryan, feels like now. And he’s not there. 

Ryan Bergara - the bravest little guy he’s ever known - ran. Ran from Shane, like he was the demon in the Sallie House. 

He ghosts his fingers over his mark again, and it still doesn’t calm him. But maybe he doesn’t need to be calm. Ripley’s run off, and Shane doesn’t need to be her. He needs to be someone else. If he can’t be himself, if Shane is too shy or non-confrontational to handle this, then maybe he has to change what _Shane_ can be. 

If Ryan won’t take the lead, Shane can take it for him. 

* * *

Shane lets himself into Ryan’s apartment, catching his friend in the middle of a frantic pacing session. 

“Hey,” he says. Ryan doesn’t reply. “We should really talk about this.”

Ryan throws one hand in the air and gestures to the couch with another. An invitation for Shane to sit down, and Shane takes it. 

“So,” Shane says. “Soulmates, huh?”

Ryan nods. “I’m sorry.”

“What?”

“I- I didn’t mean to touch it, but don’t tell me that ‘it’s fine because it was an accident’, or whatever. If we hadn’t been - y’know - and I’d touched it then… I don’t wanna think about how badly I would’ve hurt you.” 

“Okay. Apology accepted, then.”

“Look, Shane, I-” Ryan isn’t looking him in the eye, his gaze darting to anything that’s not Shane as he wrings his hands. “I need you to know that you don’t have to date me.”

“Excuse me?”

“Shane. You know that I’ve been looking for my other half. That nothing would make me happier than spending my life with them. But you deserve to be happy, too. So if you haven’t already, find that friend you told me about, and tell them everything.”

“Uh- Ryan. I’m confused. We’re soulmates, but- do you _not_ want to date me?”

“Of course I want to date you! I’ve spent more time with you than any other human for the past, what, five years of my life? I wouldn’t have done any of this if I didn’t love you! Shane, you’re the best soulmate a guy could ever have.”

He sucks in a shaky breath. 

“But you love someone else. And I can’t in good conscience ask you to abandon that because of what I want. You’d already made peace with never meeting your soulmate. So I can make peace with mine never being in love with me. Getting to have him as a friend is already one of the best fucking gifts a person could have. So just… go to the person you really love, and tell them how you feel.”

Ryan’s voice quavers as he says it. Shane’s seen Ryan afraid countless times before, and this isn’t much different. 

He needs to be brought back down to earth. 

“Okay. I’ll tell them.”

Shane gets up, throwing himself forward before he can get a chance to stop himself, and ducks to press his lips to Ryan’s. 

The kiss is brief. Gentle, but firm. When he pulls away, Shane can see the gears in Ryan’s head turning. Shane can’t help but smile at the sight of him, cute and confused and - as his eyebrows jump and eyes widen - cognizant. 

“Oh,” he says. “Okay. I think I get it now.”

“I was going to tell you at the party. I got real close, too.”

“Holy shit, Shane. How long-”

“A few months.”

“Why’d you tell me now?”

“I took a page out of your book, Bergara. I was scared shitless, but I ran in anyway.”

Ryan tugs him close, and their arms tighten around each other, vice-gripped like they’re lost in space with only each other to hold. 

When Ryan finally loosens the hug, he takes Shane’s hand in his own, bringing it to his chest. He pauses, uncertain, before Shane gently nods. Ryan pulls down his neck of his flight suit, revealing the deep blue underneath, and guides Shane’s hand to rest on his soulmark. 

Ryan’s face goes blank for a second, before his free hand bolts upwards and lands on Shane’s nape. 

Serenity flows down Shane’s spine and through his body, lungs free and full of bliss even as Ryan brings him down for another, longer kiss. 

Shane still doesn’t know how this relationship will play out. The universe fated them to be forever intertwined in this one way, but it didn’t bother to fill in the other details. 

But as Ryan holds him close, he feels no need to worry. Between the two of them, they’ve got enough bravery to get through whatever the universe throws their way.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed!


End file.
